


Treacherous

by PeppermintMermaid



Series: Out of the blue [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Eventual Romance, Fluff and Angst, Follows Canon, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, OOC, Pre-Slash, Slash, Slow Burn, Warning for future MPreg, canonical deaths, first person POV, unbetaed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2018-06-04
Packaged: 2019-02-23 12:36:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13190235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeppermintMermaid/pseuds/PeppermintMermaid
Summary: Follows the series pretty closely just adding Sam and Dean falling in love in this part.(So as not to be surprised; Mpreg series but starts in part 2)





	1. Chapter 1

 

***Sam***

 

It's going on almost half an hour now and I  _ still  _ can't believe that Yellow-Eyes is actually, truly  _ gone _ . A lifetime's crusade  _ finally  _ over. 

I'm filled with an intense feeling of relief and a heavy weariness -- I guess the last two years catching up. However, I'm also plagued with a gnawing dread because this was over  _ way  _ too easily. Well, easy for me and Dean. Nothing this easy ever comes without a price. And I fear what the price  _ is. _

I glance over at Dean who is standing alone at the Impala. He seems aloof and calm. And it  _ absolutely  _ seems like an act -- forced. It increases the dread -- confirms it, honestly. 

I excuse myself from Bobby and Ellen, who are talking quietly together about the opening of the Hell gate; their tones worried and urgent. I'm just as concerned about the Hell gate having been opened and what it’s released, but I can't do anything about that at the moment. However _ , right now _ , there is a conversation that I  _ need  _ to have with my brother.

When I reach Dean he doesn't look at me; his eyes focused on the ground. And I know it's because he purposely means to avoid meeting my eyes -- to keep something hidden from me.

I frown.

"You know, when Jake saw me...," I start cautiously, watching him intently; he still doesn't look at me but I see him tense. "It was like he saw a ghost." When he doesn't respond, I add, scoffing, "I mean, hell, you heard him, Dean. He said he  _ killed  _ me."

Dean looks at me sharply then. "Well,  _ obviously  _ he was wrong," he states sternly. 

I glare at him, faintly insulted that he thinks I'm  _ that  _ stupid.

"I don't think he was, Dean," I counter, and then ask gently, pained, because...I  _ know  _ the answer, I just want him to tell me -- to confirm my fears, "What  _ happened _ ...after I was stabbed?"

"I already told you," Dean says curtly, his gaze averting once again.

I give a mirthless, breathy laugh, turning my focus to the graveyard around us. "Let's pretend you  _ haven't  _ forgotten that you're talking to  _ me _ , yeah?" 

I feel Dean look at me deliberately. I turn to meet his eyes, asking with a look that he stop lying to me.

He sighs heavily, rubbing at his mouth, and then gives me a forced smile. "Come on, Sam. We just killed  _ the  _ Demon. Can we celebrate for a minute?" he nearly pleads.

I look away from him in disbelief, huffing exasperatedly. "I can't believe you!" I snap, shaking my head, glaring at the ground before turning it on him. "I can't believe you did that. How  _ could  _ you?"

Dean then sighs, defeated, finally dropping the act and asks "What was I  _ supposed  _ to do?"

"Let me die!" I answer sharply, honestly.

Dean shakes his head. "No. Not an option," he states firmly and then looks at me earnestly. "I'm supposed to look out for you. That's my job, and I did my job."

I give a disbelieving laugh and turn from him, trying to find a state of calm -- might as well as ask the sky to rain ice cream.

He grasps my shoulder suddenly, firmly, turning me to face him. "Hey! Don't get mad at me," he demands but then softens his tone when he says, "Don't you do that. Not about this." After a moment of silence between us, he impresses, "I  _ had  _ to do it."

I want to argue but know that it would just lead us in circles, and currently, I am just too tired. It just hurts to know he honestly  _ believes  _ that. 

I then take a deep, steadying breath and ask, my voice barely audible, "Ten years, then?"

Dean lets go of my shoulder, leans back against the Impala as if he needs the support before he says softly, "No. One year. I got one year."

I too lean back against the Impala then,  _ needing  _ its support because his answer feels like a punch to my gut, leaving me breathless. 

One year. 

_ Of course, one year _ , I think bitterly, tears surfacing. Why would he get the full ten years? He's a  _ Winchester  _ \--  _ of course _ , he'd get shortchanged nine years. Although, if I were to be honest, I'm actually surprised he got  _ a year _ . It could have easily been  _ hours _ just like with dad. A year is a twisted, bittersweet blessing.

"Sam?" Dean prompts, looking at me worriedly. Like  _ I'm  _ the one who needs to be worried about -- I'm not the one who swore my soul to an eternity of Damnation.

I wipe my eyes roughly. "God damn it, Dean...," I start but lose the momentum, suddenly feeling drained and defeated. 

Dean looks at me unsurely. Like he might want to apologize but we both know he'd be lying and I've never been one for empty gestures.

After a moment of silence, Deans asks, heartfelt, "Just don't be mad, Sammy, please? I can't take you being angry with me. Not with just a year...." 

I look at him incredulously, almost snapping that he  _ deserves  _ my anger; that he really deserves a beating, but my anger quickly dissipates at the sincere pleading in his eyes. 

God, how the part of me that resents and  _ nearly  _ hates him  _ wants  _ so dearly to punish him; to tell him that he did this to himself, that he  _ earned  _ my anger, but...he's right. I don't want our last year together tarnished with anger, bitterness, and regret either. Although, I don't want a  _ last year  _ with him, period; but he's taken that decision out of my hands. 

In the end, I decide -- for his sake -- that I'll keep the anger limited, but that doesn't mean that I approve of or accept what he's done. 

And then, suddenly, I realize, I  _ don't  _ have to accept it.

We've broken a Deal before! I figure a Deal is a Deal, we can break Dean's.

I look at him resolutely then. "I'm not mad. Right now," I explain seriously. "I'm  _ gonna  _ get you out of this. I don't care what it takes," I promise vehemently and then add, "And then I'm seriously kicking your ass and giving you the silent treatment for  _ at least  _ six months before I kick your ass again, and  _ maybe _ after that, I'll start talking to you again."

Dean gives me a surprised look while trying to suppress a small, amused smile before his expression settles on sadness. "As long as you're not mad at me for my...last...you know."

My anger rises at his skewed priorities but I swallow the argument when the crunching of leaves alerts us to Bobby's and Ellen's approach.

Dean and I quickly school our expressions and demeanor into something easy and collected, not wanting to share our new predicament just yet. However, I notice Bobby looking at us intently --  _ searching _ . So, I figure that he knows about Dean's Deal and seems to be searching for if  _ I _ know.

I feel a flare of anger that Bobby knew before me and didn't say anything. But the anger is only fleeting because I'm sure Bobby only kept it from me because Dean  _ begged  _ him to. The anger then returns to Dean for even creating this situation.

"Well...Yellow-Eyed-Demon might be dead but a lot more got through the gate," Ellen states, standing next to me, looking at us curiously. I'm guessing Dean and me aren't being as furtive as we think. Thankfully, she doesn't look like she's going to pry.

"How many, you think?" Dean asks, actually looking  _ grateful  _ for the change of topic.

"Hundred. Maybe two hundred," I answer, remembering Yellow-Eyes' plans. "It's an army. He's unleashed an army."

The four of us share a worried, somber look before Bobby says, serious and significant, "Hope to hell you boys are ready. 'Cause the war has just begun."

Dean looks at me and gives me an easy smirk. "'Course we are."

I roll my eyes. "Not like we have a choice," I state, hating that the escaped demons will end up being an irritating distraction from trying to find a way to break Dean's Deal.

Ellen sighs heavily, tiredly. "Good luck, boys," she tells me and Dean sincerely. "I've gotta go. Got a burned down roadhouse to deal with and...friends to lay to rest," she says, slightly teary-eyed.

Bobby puts a hand on her shoulder. "Need help?"

She shakes her head. "I'll be fine, Bobby. Just give me a ride to the bus station," she says with an appreciative smile before heading back to the main road towards Bobby’s car. 

Bobby lingers and then looks at the two of us. Dean seems to take that as his cue to run -- coward.

He claps Bobby on the shoulder. "Well, we should get back on the road. Got work to do," he says quickly, easily. "Right, Sammy?" he says to me pointedly.

"Yeah, sure," I agree plainly. 

Dean then slips into the car quickly. I turn to follow suit but Bobby grabs my arm to stop me. He pulls me a little ways away from the car.

"You know?" he asks me seriously.

I give a scoffing, bitter laugh. "Of course, I know," I say, unable to stop the anger from tingeing my words. "How long were  _ you _ going lie to me? How long were you going to  _ let  _ him lie to me? How long were you going to keep me in the dark? The day they came for him?!" I demand.

Bobby gives me a stern look. "I knew you'd find out before then. Your brother is a terrible liar when it comes to you," he says simply and gives me a pointed look as he says, "As you know."

I give him that, and nod, forcing the anger to simmer. "Yeah," I concede. "So, what do we do?"

Bobby shakes his head, looking just as devastated as I feel. "As far as I know, nothing. There's nothing that  _ can  _ be done."

"No. I don't believe that. We've broken a Deal before. We can break his," I argue firmly.

He gives a humorless laugh. "You really think they'll  _ let  _ it be broken? You got lucky with that other Deal."

"Then I'll just have to get lucky with Dean's Deal, too," I decide.

"Kid," he starts but falters. He then gives a weak chuckle. "I almost forgot that I was arguing with a  _ Winchester _ . You're gonna try no matter how futile." He sighs resignedly. "Well, then I'll help; as best I can."

I give him a grateful smile. "However you can. If you can. I'll take all the help I can get," I say earnestly.

Bobby and I both jolt when Dean starts up the Impala, revving the engine loudly.

"Get in the car, Sam, or I'm taking off without you!" Dean calls impatiently from the car.

It's an empty threat but I know Dean, like me, just wants to get as far away from this place as possible, as soon as possible.

"I'll get in touch with you as soon as I have something," Bobby promises.

"Thanks, Bobby," I say.

He heads for his truck and I return to the Impala. As soon as I close the door Dean is gunning it for the highway.

After a minute of silence, Dean asks, "So, what did Bobby want?"

I roll my eyes. "Don't ask stupid questions, Dean," I reply simply, giving him a pointed look.

Dean sighs then. "Sam, leave the Deal alone. You can't break it. And I won't let you waste your time trying," he says seriously.

I look at him incredulously. "You  _ really  _ expect me to just accept it? To just  _ let  _ you go to Hell at the end of your year?"

Dean flashes me a grim look. "No. Not at all." And then says, softly, "But I'm asking you to."

I turn to look out the passenger side window as I'm overwhelmed with anger and resentment; sighing harshly, shaking my head, I argue heatedly, "I'm not accepting that you're dying in a year, so, you  _ don't  _ get to make last requests."

He then glares at me. "Damn it, Sam! Leave it alone or I swear to God I'll find some no-name town in the middle of nowhere and ditch your ass there," he threatens,  _ almost  _ sounding serious.

I give him a hard look. "Try," I challenge sharply.

Dean suddenly pulls off to the side of the road, and for a moment I fear that he's making good on his threat. 

He parks the car but leaves it running. He turns to face me fully, looking like he's got something important to say but he doesn't say anything, just simply studies me.

"Fine," he starts cautiously. "Look all you want, but you find a way to break the Deal and I'll make sure you don't execute it."

I scowl deeply. "I don't get it! Why you don't want the Deal broken?!" I exclaim frustrated and then look at him unsurely. "I mean...do you  _ want  _ to die?" I ask, fearing that he actually does. Because if he does,  _ how  _ do I save him if he's unwilling to save himself?

Dean shakes his head and sighs tiredly. "Of course not, but...just leave the Deal alone. Please?" He looks at me earnestly.

"No," I state decisively. "I'm going to look. I'm going to save you. But, I give you  _ permission  _ to  _ try _ and stop me," I state honestly.

Dean looks at me thoughtfully before gives an amused breathy laugh, and nods. He takes a moment before he says, easily, "Fine. You can look; you find a way, I'm  _ going  _ to stop you. There's no  _ trying  _ about it."

"Fine," I say simply.

"Fine," he responds, shifting the car into Drive and pulling back onto the highway.


	2. Chapter 2

 

***Sam***

 

Even though Dean is obviously beyond exhausted, he drives us the five hours it takes to leave Wyoming state. I mean, I know he, like me, wants to be as far away from this state as we can possibly get but I figured a town or two away would be sufficient.

And I tell him so, but he simply ignores me and keeps going East.

When we're halfway into Nebraska, and after making a stop for large coffees each, I remark that maybe crashing at Bobby's might be a good idea since we're coming up on the route that would take us to his place. I know he wouldn't mind. Hell, he's probably expecting to see us when he gets back home.

Dean snorts derisively. "And make it easier for you," he scoffs. "Don't think so."

I look at him a little confused until I realize what he's talking about. "Ah. No; meant because I want a bed and you look ridiculously exhausted; he's just about four hours from us right now," I clarify. "Although, yeah, two birds -- one stone," I admit.

Dean raises his cup of coffee at me. "Once the caffeine kicks in, I'll be fine," he declares.

I roll my eyes and sigh, slumping in my seat. "A bed going to pop out of that cup, too?"

"Back-seat's open," Dean suggests simply, turning on the radio, blasting his mullet rock, obviously, so he can't hear me complain anymore.

Jerk.

* * *

When we cross into Illinois, I sit up straighter and reach over to turn off the radio -- he spares me a glare. I ignore it. I've endured his music and being unable to sleep long enough, I decide.

"Okay. This is getting stupid now, Dean," I complain, stretching the kinks out of my back the best I can in the cramped space.

"Driver picks destinations," Dean answers, his tone heavy with finality.

I roll my eyes. "Along with rest stops, where we eat, and music," I retort somewhat moodily.

"I don't make the rules," he says airily.

"Those _are_ your rules!" I argue petulantly.

He simply shrugs.

"Fourteen hours and three states is far enough," I point out wearily.

" _I'll_ decide how far is far enough, Princess," Dean states firmly, not taking his eyes off the road.

"Jesus, you're insane," I mutter before accepting my fate and try to find a comfortable position. Can't really, though. My body is so sore and worn out from the last few days that sitting in the cramped space of the front seat of the Impala only exacerbates the pain and uncomfortableness.

"Just a few more hours," Dean reassures then.

"Sure," I answer doubtfully.

* * *

I'm roughly jolted out of sleep by the swerving of the car and a blaring horn. I see Dean quickly jerking the steering wheel to pull off to the shoulder of the highway and notice that he's breathing hard and looks as startled as me.

I take a moment to calm my racing heart before rubbing at my face -- forcing myself into alertness -- and sitting up straight, feeling a bit surprised that I actually fell asleep to begin with.

I look at Dean, confused. "What happened?"

Dean gives me a sheepish, faint smile. "Sorry. Dozed off," he confesses.

I groan in irritation, and embarrassment for him.

"Enough," I decide resolutely. "We're far enough. Find someplace, _anyplace_ for us to crash -- not literally, though -- because it would be incredibly stupid to die in a _simple_ car accident _after_ just having had a _showdown_ with a powerful demon."

Dean nods. "Yeah, all right," he agrees, heading back onto the highway and takes the first exit we come across.

After a few minutes of searching the city -- unsure of where we are; haven't seen any defining signs yet and I don't recognize the city -- we find a grungy, nearly rundown, and -- by the looks of the empty parking lot -- barely used looking motel. Translation: right up our alley. It's not like we need anything fancy, anyway. As long as it has beds, it's perfect. Although, clean bedding and pillows, a working shower and AC and/or heater would be appreciated.

Dean pulls into the parking lot, parking in front of the motel's lobby. I wait in the car while he checks us in.

"We are in Findlay, Ohio," Dean announces ten minutes later when he gets back into the car, putting it in Drive and heading for our room on the first floor -- our preference.

I nod thoughtfully. "Five states far enough for you?" I ask wryly.

Dean snorts dryly. "Not even close," he remarks.

I don't reply, just give him a small, pitying smile.

Dean parks in front of our room and turns off the Impala but doesn't move to get out of the car. He instead leans back in his seat, wiping at his face and sighing heavily, letting his exhaustion fully show.

"I am _so_ tempted to leave the duffels -- get them later," Dean admits, looking guilty.

I'm tempted to do the same, but...we both know better -- were taught better. No matter how tired or injured, our weapons and wards _always_ come with us. Unless we want our throats ripped out by some violent and/or possibly set-on-revenge supernatural thing.

We both groan as we get out of the car simultaneously, locking up the car and then heading for the trunk. We grab our respective personal duffels and one of the two weapons bags each. With how weary I feel and my muscles aching, each bag feels like it's carrying 2 tons of lead. I glance at Dean and see that he looks like he feels the same.

I follow him to the room since he has the key. When he opens the door, he searches the wall to the right for the light switch and flips it, letting light flood the room. And...the room looks as terrible as I figured it would -- grimy and unkempt. Although, someone did sort of _attempt_ to make the beds but with the covers still fairly rumpled, failed spectacularly. I can only hope the sheets _aren't_ from the _previous_ guest or _guests_.

"Home sweet home," Dean says with a grimace, entering the room and then scrunching up his nose at the smell of the room, which is a mixture of dusty, moldy, and simply unclean. He then places his duffels by a small table near the window.

"Bed," is all I say; because a bed is all that matters to me right now.

I place my duffels near his two as Dean glances over at the beds.

"Don't get your hopes up," he says, walking over to the slightly disheveled bed closest to the front door. He lifts the sheet and comforter, inspecting the bed. "I'd avoid getting under the covers." He eyes the pillow warily and adds thoughtfully, "Or using the pillow."

I just roll my eyes. "All I care is that it's not the back-seat of the Impala," I say, half teasing, half truthful.

Dean gives me an affronted look. "You're riding in the trunk for that."

I give a light, dismissing laugh, only kicking off my boots before flopping on my stomach onto the bed. I toss the musty pillow to the floor and turn my head towards the wall so I'm not facedown, breathing in the moldy-smelling comforter.

I close my eyes, immediately sighing in relief of being able to lie down, flat and stretched out; reveling in it, despite how disgusting the bed smells.

"Dude," Dean whines suddenly.

I grunt at him, barely able to suppress a grin because I know what he's complaining about -- I've left him to ward the room alone. "Should have stopped _earlier_ , when I wasn't as tired," I say casually, careful not to let my amusement show.

"You suck," he grumbles irritated but says nothing more.

I just smirk, thankful I'm not facing him because if he saw my amusement, he'd pester me until I got up to help him.

I simply listen to him as he gets the salt canister out of one of the weapons duffels and move around the room -- laying down salt lines at the windows and front door and doing the same in the bathroom. He also checks that everything is locked. He walks over to the bedside table by my bed; he clicks the safety off of a gun -- my Taurus -- and places it on the table within easy reach for me, of course. I then hear the click of his Colt1911 before he places it on the bedside table next to his bed. I hear him flick the lights off and then hear the creak of the springs in the other bed telling of Dean sitting down. He groans and kicks off his heavy boots. That's all he does before I hear him lie down and sigh lightly -- sounding pleased about being in a bed too, despite his defense of the Impala.

I'm then startled when my head is hit with a pillow.

"Jerk," I growl, irritated, grabbing the pillow and, without turning over, fling it over my shoulder back at him; pretty sure I missed him, though.

"Bitch," he replies simply before chuckling and then settling; and then, surprisingly quick, begins to snore.

I huff out a laugh, amused and surprised by the moment. Almost feeling _normal_. Like we just came off a simple Hunt and are just crashing.

Like Dean's contracted death in a year _isn't_ looming over us.

I somber at the thought immediately, my chest tightening and any feelings of amusement quickly evaporate.

I turn onto my back and look over at a deeply sleeping Dean.  

God, there _isn't_ going to be a single moment this year where his Deal _isn't_ felt, I realize bleakly.


	3. Chapter 3

***Sam***

 

I pull my hands back from the laptop keyboard when my fingers begin to cramp from typing and the repetitive movement of using the touchpad. I sigh heavily, tiredly, and lean back in the uncomfortable plastic chair, rubbing at my eyes, trying to wipe away the bleariness -- doesn't work.

_ Instead  _ of sleeping like I should be -- badly  _ need  _ to be -- I'm sitting at the small table by the window, working in the dark on my laptop. Scouring the web for  _ anything  _ related to Demons and Demon deals. Found plenty on Demons -- how to summon, how to control, how to bind, and how to exorcise them. But with Demon deals, only found information and rituals about how to  _ make  _ the Deals. There is  _ nothing  _ about how to break them or anyone claiming to have done so. Quite the opposite, plenty of stories saying that it's impossible to break a Deal with a Demon. 

I, however, know that to be somewhat inaccurate; Dean and I broke a Deal, so, it's not  _ entirely  _ impossible. Kind of. 

Anyway, I did end up finding some sites that offered book titles that were a little more in-depth on the subject of Deals with Demons. Mostly considered lore but I've learned that there are sometimes grains of truth interwoven into the myths.

I've written down all the titles of the books -- only seven at the moment -- that I could find. Currently, I'm searching for Occult shops that would carry them. 

I yawn hugely and glance at the clock in the corner of the laptop screen: 12:18 am. I groan wearily. God, it's been a little over three hours that I've been on the laptop researching. Before that, tried for half an hour to sleep but just couldn't. I kept panicking when I would think about Dean only having a year left and realizing that a year isn't long at all. Every  _ second  _ counts now.

At that last thought, I feel my heart begin to race and my breathing becomes shallow as the panic starts to overwhelm me again. I take deep breaths and focus on calming myself, quietly repeating over and over "A year  _ is  _ long enough. I  _ can  _ save him." 

It takes a few minutes before the panic finally ebbs away and I'm able to feel somewhat at ease. I place my elbows on the table and rest my head in my hands. 

God, I  _ have _ to save him. I  _ can't  _ let him die for me. I  _ have  _ to find a way to break his Deal! 

Suddenly, tears well and my throat constricts when that irritating, unwelcomed, and cruelly realistic voice intrudes with "But what if you  _ can't _ ?" And for a moment I reluctantly indulge it with " _ Maybe  _ I can't."

No! 

I can't fail. 

I  _ won't  _ fail. 

That's not an option. Failure will  _ never  _ be an option.

I roughly rub the tears from my eyes. I  _ will  _ find a way to break Dean's Deal; I will save him! Even if it kills me.

I take a deep, steady breath and look back at the laptop, forcing the weariness away and feeling more determined in my researching. I can rest once Dean's Deal is broken. When I  _ know  _ that I don't have  _ just  _ a year left with my brother.

* * *

Nearly half an hour later my researching is interrupted by Dean turning on to his back quickly and letting out a long moan. He then sighs heavily and turns onto his right side. 

I pause my research, realizing that it's a nightmare. I watch him for a moment, looking for signs that I should wake him, but he doesn't move again or make any more distressed sounds.

I resume my researching. 

Sometimes, with the both of us, we're able to pass through the nightmare quickly on our own or wake ourselves up enough to end the nightmare and go back into an easier sleep. Nightmares are normal for us, considering what we encounter as Hunters -- or when we were younger, Hunters-in-training; so, we've had lots of practice dealing with them.  

Also had to learn to deal with the nightmares individually because dad didn't want us to rely on each other so heavily for comfort. We could have each other's back in Hunts but needed to learn to comfort ourselves. He saw it as a weakness: to be bothered by what we hunted. Even though we were only children.

I roll my eyes at the memory. One of the  _ many  _ lessons from dad that I disagreed with. However, my complaining didn't stop Dean from making sure we practiced it. We didn't exactly master it but we did get it down enough to not need each other often. It's only every so often that we need to pull each other out from whatever terror traps us in sleep.

"Sam," Dean suddenly whispers harshly, startling me.

I stop typing quickly, figuring that I'm typing too loudly and have woken him. "Sorry. Didn't mean to wake you," I apologize but he doesn't respond with his usual "Get to bed damn it."

I frown, watching him.  _ Is  _ he awake? 

"Dean?" I question unsurely.

Dean then starts to breath harder and I realize that he wasn't able to take himself out of the nightmare. Probably too deep asleep from his exhaustion to shake himself out of it.

"No, no, no, no, no," he starts to murmur, sounding panicked. "Sam. Sammy. Sammy," he starts to say, still panicked, his voice getting louder. 

I get up swiftly, nearly tripping over the chair, and rush over to him when I realize that he must be having a nightmare about my death. I need to wake him quickly; he doesn't need to relive or suffer through that again. 

"Dean, Dean, Dean!" I say loudly, sitting on the bed next to him, grasping his shoulder and giving him a firm shake but he doesn't wake up, just seems to become more distressed, still calling for me.

I cradle his head then, feeling his racing pulse through his neck. "Dean, wake up! Dean, please. You're okay. I'm okay. You need to wake up," I say firmly, feeling distressed at his distress.

He grabs at my arms suddenly, tightly, and finally opens his eyes. He's slow to rouse and is still breathing hard like he's been running for miles and looks at me like he's surprised to see me. I wonder if it's because he's surprised to see me  _ alive _ .

"You awake?" I ask emphatically, not moving away from him or letting him go -- still cradling his head.

He nods, looking uncertain and then makes an effort to calm himself once he's aware his body is panicking. His hands slide down my arms, resting on my hands. "What happened?" he asks, confused.

"Nightmare. I couldn't wake you," I explain, relaxing now that he's awake. "You okay?"

Dean automatically nods. "Yeah. Just a dream," he dismisses, clearing his throat and looking awkward. "Just a dream," he repeats softly as if to comfort himself. And it irritates me faintly for him to be practicing something useless and stupid dad taught him.

"Didn't seem like 'just a dream'," I press, honestly  _ wanting  _ to comfort him. He doesn't have to deal with this alone -- shouldn't have to.

"No. Right, uh...," he mutters and then his expression briefly becomes sorrowful before rapidly going stony. "Don't worry about it. I'm awake; that's all that matters," he says firmly, and once he realizes that my hands are holding him, he grasps my hands firmly and pushes them away and sits up.

I roll my eyes. "Yeah? You normally freak out in those  _ pleasant  _ dreams of yours?" I ask dryly.

He just gives me a hard glare; shutting me out and shutting down because God forbid that Dean Winchester have feelings. 

I simply sigh, feeling defeated and exhausted, and decide to just let it go. Arguing with him isn't going to make him open up to me.

After a long silence between us where it's obvious that he'll be okay and I motion to stand to go back to my laptop, he breathes out heavily and says suddenly, his voice barely above a whisper, "Not really a nightmare. More like reliving a memory, or something."

I look at him, surprised that he admitted that, and then frown grimly, realizing that I don't really have a response to that. I mean, I obviously want him to know that he doesn't need to feel ashamed or hide that he's upset from me whether about my death or his Deal. But I'm not sure what response is appropriate or comforting to him in speaking about those things. I know what he  _ wants  _ to hear but I'm never going to say 'Well, don't worry about it. I'm alive and well because you sold your soul for my life. Things are perfectly fine now,' because I'm sure he would take that as sincere  _ approval _ and that is so far from the truth.

"Right," I say awkwardly. "I'm sorry," I offer lamely.

He rolls his eyes and then rubs at his face. "It's...I'm good. Sorry I woke you," he says, giving me a deeply apologetic expression which fades rapidly as his eyes land on my open and still turned on laptop. He frowns and then looks at my face intently. "You  _ weren't  _ sleeping, were you?" he accuses.

I shrug, feeling faintly guilty. Although, I really shouldn't because I'm up for a good reason. "Uh, wasn't as tired as I thought," I lie uncomfortably.

"Bull. You were practically out when I went to sleep," he says sharply, almost angry. "What happened?" he demands.

I sigh wearily, nearly irritated. "Nothing, okay. I'm fine. I'll get a few hours soon," I mollify, moving to stand up but Dean grabs my arm to keep me from fully standing, leaving his hand on my arm as if anchoring me. 

I simply look at him curiously. 

"You  _ need  _ to rest. You haven't properly rested since you.... You  _ know _ ?" he says awkwardly but looking at me concerned.

"Rose from the dead," I finish scathingly.

"Yeah. That," Dean agrees awkwardly.

I scowl at him then, giving a dry laugh. "If you can't say it, you shouldn't have done it," I mock.

He glares fiercely at me. "Fine! You haven't rested properly since I sold my soul to raise your ungrateful ass," he says acidly.

I feel a brief moment of unease at his Deal being acknowledged so blatantly before what he said sinks in. I gape at him unbelievingly. "Wow," I state. "You actually expect me to be  _ grateful  _ for  _ that _ ?"

Dean loses his edge at that, softening his expression dramatically before saying, his tone honest, "I expect you to not give me grief over that for the year."

I pause at his honesty, looking at him thoughtfully before looking down at the bed and quietly saying, "Dude, I give you grief for mangling the  _ toothpaste _ . You really think I'd let you off the hook for  _ that _ ?"

He gives a soft, brief laugh. "Wishful thinking?" he offers.

"I guess," I concede, keeping my head down as tears unexpectedly spring up at the thought of only having a year left of complaining about his handling of a tube of toothpaste. And I feel silly for the thought but it doesn't stop the pain.

I clear my throat harshly and wipe at my eyes roughly, and Dean swears lightly. 

"C'mon, Sammy, please, sleep?" he pleads gently. 

I shake my head, only just able to keep myself together. "I've got  _ just  _ a year to figure out how to break your Deal, Dean. I  _ don't  _ have time to waste on something so trivial as  _ sleep _ ," I impress, moving to stand again but he tightens his hold on my arm. "Dean," I start to complain.

"No. I'm not letting you pull the 'I'll sleep when I'm dead -- or break the Deal, or whatever' crap," he says in his big-brother-knows-better tone. "You sleep  _ now _ . You  _ need  _ it," he says sternly before sighing and adding grudgingly, "If...you're going to go into hardcore research mode...you need the rest or you'll burn out within a few days."

I look at him faintly surprised and get myself under control. "Encouraging research? I must be that bad." 

"You are, and whatever gets you to sleep at this point," he answers simply. "Please?"

I consider him before shaking my head. "Not being stubborn," I explain honestly. "I just  _ can't  _ sleep. I keep thinking about how a year isn't long. That it's actually  _ easily  _ countable; that it'll go by quicker than I'm ready for. ...I can't  _ waste  _ a single second."

Dean nods and sighs, looking apologetic as if he truly didn't mean to let his Deal torment me so badly. 

_ 'How did he think I'd react?' _ I think disbelievingly.

Suddenly, Dean grabs the front of my shirt and pulls me hard towards the bed, towards him. My Hunter reflexes keep me upright just barely.

"Wha--what are you doing?!" I stammer confused and a little alarmed, fighting his attack.

He rolls his eyes as if I'm slow. "Getting us both some sleep," he answers and yanks harder. 

I lose my balance finally, falling into him and he roughly wrestles -- because I'm still resisting him -- me to lay down next to him and then tightly wraps me in his arms -- his embrace trapping my arms to my side.

Our scuffle continues for a few minutes before I finally stop fighting him; lying still and breathing hard, realizing that he's  _ actually  _ going to  _ make  _ me sleep with him. Like he used to when I was younger and I'd have nightmares and couldn't relax enough to go back to sleep on my own; before I turned ten and decided I didn't need to be babied anymore; or more accurately, after  _ dad  _ decided that at ten, I  _ shouldn't  _ be babied anymore. I had to pretend that it was my decision so I wouldn't be so resentful about it.

Dean keeps his hold firm and tight; his right arm under my back and his left wrapped over me, still trapping my arms to my sides and pinning me down. It's really uncomfortable and I know it has to be for him, too, but he seems just fine staying like this if it'll keep me in bed. 

I decide then to just accept defeat because if I keep fighting him he'll just tighten his hold and keep me restrained, making us uncomfortable all night, or morning.

I sigh wearily and turn my head towards him. 

He watches me warily, keeping his hold firm.

"Uncle," I concede, pushing his now cautiously slack right arm out from under me. He doesn't pull away, just moves his arm to the crook of my neck -- kind of an improvement -- and loosens his hold so that his left arm just rests on me.

I keep a couple inches between us, placing me at the very edge of the bed, feeling awkward because it's been just a little over fourteen years since he's physically comforted me like this.

After a moment, he sighs abruptly, heavily, and pulls me closer, making me have to rest my head on his shoulder. I just go with it -- even pressing closer and resting my arm across his chest, settling because it's just more comfortable.

However, it's still really awkward to be twenty-four and  _ cuddling  _ my twenty-eight-year-old brother but I'm not going to complain if he isn't. And I figure that maybe this benefits him as much as it does me as I feel him relax.

After a couple minutes of silence, I start to feel surprisingly relaxed and somewhat comforted, and he seems just as at ease. 

I sigh lightly and let my exhaustion take over. However, after a while, once again, I feel my panic begin as I realize that I'm doing nothing to save Dean.

Dean pulls me closer, tightening his embrace -- I'm sure because he can feel my heart picking up speed. He then startlingly presses his lips to the crown of my head, giving a light kiss.

"I don't know what to say or do to make this better for you," he admits sadly.

I rest my hand on his chest, over his heart, slightly clutching his shirt as I feel my throat tighten and my eyes become teary because I  _ can't  _ lose him. He's all I've got left now.

"Negate on the Deal," I plead softly. " _ Please _ ."

I feel him shake his head. "No. Not happening," he says sternly but I can actually hear a sincere apology in his tone. 

The sincerity doesn't make me feel any better, though. 

I don't let the tears fall. Dean may be cuddling with me to comfort me but I'm sure that is as far as his comfort zone allows.

I sigh deeply and murmur into his shoulder, "You're such an idiot." I then add with a very tiny smirk. "I must have seriously done something wrong in a past life to get you as my brother."

Dean laughs lightly. "I bet you did; ran over a cat or something," he teases and then exhales tiredly. "Sleep, okay?" he pleads softly.

"Yeah, okay," I whisper wearily, deciding to truly try. He's right, I can't keep running on just fumes.

We both shift slightly to get more comfortable but we don't loosen our holds on each other or put a distance between us.

_ 'I'm going to save him. I've got to,'  _ are my last thoughts before I  _ finally  _ fall asleep.


	4. Chapter 4

***Sam***

 

I wake slowly, feeling warm and extremely comfortable despite the profound ache in my body; that I'm quickly becoming aware of. I groan weakly, feeling reluctant to get up but it's getting obvious the more alert I become that the pain  _ is  _ what woke me. So, it's clear that I am in dire need of painkillers.

I move to turn over but find that I'm hindered by... _ arms _ ?

I open my eyes sluggishly and then frown in confusion when I see Dean in my immediate proximity, sleeping soundly. And then recognize that the arms around me are his. 

After a moment of feeling lost, I remember the reason why I am in bed with him. It was his solution to getting me to stop fighting sleep -- enforced cuddling.

I try to get out of his hold without waking him but clearly fail when he grunts and hums, "Hm, what's wrong?"

"Pain," is all I say. 

Dean opens his eyes, looks at me groggily before he says simply, "Okay."  He lets me go but when I try to get up he places his palm firmly on my chest hindering me from doing so. "Stay," he commands.

I look at him confused when  _ he _ gets out of bed and walks over to the duffel with the first aid kit and rummages through it.

"I'm not in  _ that  _ much pain that I couldn't get up to get the painkillers myself," I announce, sitting up, feeling somewhat irritated.

I hear the rattle of pills as Dean gets the bottle out of the bag. He yawns loudly as he walks into the bathroom and runs the water -- getting a glass of water.

"I'm sure," he agrees plainly as he comes back to the bed. "But you'd use it as a reason to stay awake," he says as he opens the pill bottle and passes me three pills and the glass of water. I take them appreciatively if still a bit irritated. He looks over at the clock. "And it's just about to hit six. Way too freaking early to be up."

I put the glass down on the bedside table after swallowing the pills, rolling my eyes. "Nearly six hours is enough," I state while a yawn contradicts me. "We've worked on less."

Dean grunts, disagreeing, and throws himself back into bed, jostling me. I scowl at him but feel surprised when he reaches for me, pulling me back into his arms. "Sleep," is all he says as we move around to find a comfortable position we can sleep in together -- me pressed against his side, head on his shoulder while he lies on his back, his arm around my back.

"I can go back to my bed," I offer even though we're finally comfortable. "I'm tired enough; I'll sleep," I promise.

"It's fine," he mumbles sleepily.

I hum my resignation but don't feel at all bitter about it; much too comfortable. 

Dean falls back asleep pretty quickly. I follow just as easily.

* * *

I wake once again, still feeling warm and comfortable but this time not in much pain. At ease enough that I  _ could  _ go back to sleep but I feel I've slept enough. Feeling the warm lump next to me, I immediately remember that I'm sleeping with Dean. It doesn't feel as awkward as it did earlier. I open my eyes and find daylight brightening the room a little; grateful that the curtains are thick enough to keep most of the light out so as not to be blinding. 

I roll onto my side, pleased to find that Dean has removed his hold on me. It makes it easier for me to escape -- or, I mean,  _ get up _ . I rise from the bed and thankfully he doesn't stir -- still deeply sleeping.

I look at the clock; it's nearing ten-thirty am. Definitely enough sleep.

I head to the bathroom to clean up and get ready for the day. Need to find those shops and do more research.

When I come out of the bathroom -- shower pressure was as weak as I thought it would be going by how crappy the motel and room looked -- I'm surprised to find that Dean's  _ still  _ sleeping. Usually, my morning routine wakes him.

I walk over to my still open and in Sleep mode laptop…and contemplate it. 

I could stay in the room and continue researching but I’m pretty sure with it being close to the time Dean should be getting up that I will definitely wake him with the clacking of my typing. And I really feel that he needs more rest than I do. Also, I am in desperate need of caffeine and nourishment. 

I close the laptop, deciding to head over to the little café a few blocks away that I noticed on our way to the motel. It had advertised ‘Free Wi-fi access’.

I grab my wallet and cell, pack up my laptop, and write Dean a note so he doesn’t worry. I leave it by his cell on the bedside table to the right of his bed. I ignore the keys to the Impala, deciding that it would be smarter to walk than to take the car because the roar of its engine would immediately wake Dean. And I would really like to give him a few more hours of sleep. However, if truthful, I really want the peace his sleep affords me. He can't fight me if he isn't aware of what I'm doing.

I leave the room quietly, starting for the cafe, still consumed with guilt over how much this feels more like I'm sneaking out instead of letting him have a few more hours of rest. I just try to comfort -- or convince -- myself that "I'm just trying to let Dean catch up on sleep".

When I reach the cafe I get myself a large coffee and a blueberry muffin. I frown at the muffin, though, finding that I'm not as hungry as I thought. I find a semi-secluded table and boot up my laptop. I resume my search for Occult shops. 

* * *

After an hour and a half, three large cups of coffee, and numerous phone calls, I  _ finally  _ and thankfully find four of the seven books in three cities in Ohio. The cities are not really close by -- all three are a few hours away in different directions from Findlay -- but at least they are in the same state. The other three I still need to locate.

I lean back in my chair, sighing heavily and rub my face, feeling weary and conflicted because I don’t actually know how I’m going to  _ acquire  _ the books. I mean, I’ll have to ‘commandeer’ one of the stolen credit cards, that’s for sure; Dean won’t be too happy about that when he finds out -- he’ll  _ definitely  _ see the books as a waste of money. I’ll also need to find a way  _ to get  _ to the cities because I am pretty sure Dean won’t  _ willingly  _ take me.

I sigh lightly; getting the credit card will be relatively easy, I figure, but getting  _ to  _ the cities will take some finagling. 

One option would be to just ditch Dean and go to the cities by myself. I’d have to ‘borrow’ a car because kidnapping the Impala would prove hazardous to my well-being. Although, so would ditching Dean, but I figure the benefits outweigh Dean’s wrath. Sort of. Second option is faking cases in the cities that I need to go to. However, that one would prove  _ challenging  _ because I  _ rarely  _ make mistakes in finding cases; and  _ three mistakes  _ will definitely look suspicious to Dean, especially in the same state, and I need Dean  _ oblivious  _ since he’s decided to hinder me in saving him. 

I finish the last of my now cold coffee, frowning in thought as I weigh my options.

“That look never means anything good,” Dean says easily but slightly suspicious as he sits across from me with his own cup of coffee.

I jump sharply, genuinely startled. I glare at him severely before taking a deep breath, forcing my heart to slow down, feeling irritated and stupid for being so caught off guard.

He just smirks at me and takes a drink of his coffee. “Startle you?” he asks nonchalantly, amused, setting his cup down in front of him, leaving it to rest between his hands.

I don’t respond, just simply scowl at him.

After a beat, “So. What’cha scheming?” he asks trying to sound casual but fails. He studies me intently, accusation so clear in his face.

I consider lying to him; it would be in my best interest to. But then I figure that keeping him in the dark would just make him  _ absolutely  _ determined to find out what I’m doing, and he  _ would _ .

So, really, what’s the point in lying? Also, telling him the truth now would probably save us a few fights. Emphasis on  _ probably _ .

I sigh heavily, feeling entirely defeated. I focus on my empty coffee cup, feeling a little guilty when I explain, “There were some sites that had suggested books -- seven to be exact -- that could  _ possibly _ help with breaking your Deal. I found that four of them are sold in Ohio in three different cities. I was trying to figure out how to buy them and how to get to the cities since you won't help me." I risk looking at him when I finish, nervous about his reaction.

Dean doesn’t say anything, just takes a deep drink from his coffee, looking thoughtful. 

Suddenly, he gives a curt nod. “You’re right. I won’t take you. And I sure as hell ain’t buyin' 'em,” Dean states simply. I’m surprised that there is absolutely no irritation or anger in his voice. However, I still feel stung but don’t show it. It would be stupid to act indignant  _ because  _ I knew this. 

“I know,” I say evenly.

He then gives me a serious look before sighing deeply and continuing, “ _ But _ . I don’t take you or give you the means to buy the books, you’ll find a way, I’m sure of it. Ways I’m not going to like or approve of. ” He takes a drink of his coffee and gives me a somber look. “I got some new cards; I'm willing to part with  _ one _ .  _ And  _ I’ll take you," he says somewhat grudgingly. "Because I’m not going to make you steal one from our stash -- it would just piss me off when I find out. And I’m not letting you take off, leaving me worried and wondering if you’re okay and if you’ll come back unharmed or at all.” He then grabs my muffin -- which I’ve only taken a couple bites from -- and stands. “Get packed and let's go,” he orders tersely, taking a bite of the muffin and quickly walks away -- taking my muffin and his coffee with him.

I sit for a few minutes, feeling stunned and unsure if I should count this as a ‘win’. I mean, I got him to  _ give  _ me the 'money' and to  _ take  _ me to get the books but I’ve obviously angered him, which means he’s going to make life hell for me for as long as he feels pissed off, and that can translate into days, weeks, or even months if he’s feeling particularly vindictive.

_ 'Yeah, maybe, not really a ‘win’ after all,' _ I figure, apprehensive and slightly disheartened.


End file.
